by TR Cameron
Sorcerer’s Waltz
Scions of Magic™ Book Six
TR Cameron
Michael Anderle
Martha Carr
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2020 TR Cameron & Michael Anderle
Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design
http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, March 2020
ebook ISBN: 978-1-64202-821-8
Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-822-5
The Oriceran Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017-20 by Martha Carr and LMBPN Publishing.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Author Notes - TR Cameron
Author Notes - Martha Carr
Other series in the Oriceran Universe:
Other LMBPN Publishing Books
Connect with The Authors
The Sorcerer’s Waltz Team
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Jeff Eaton
Nicole Emens
Larry Omans
Dorothy Lloyd
Deb Mader
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
Skyhunter Editing Team
Dedication
For those who seek wonder around every corner and in each turning page. And, as always, for Dylan and Laurel.
— TR Cameron
Chapter One
“What the hell did you say?” Caliste Leblanc, matriarch of House Leblanc—one of the nine noble families of New Atlantis—stared across the table that separated her from the man on the other side of the booth.
Wymarc Jehenel, patriarch of House Jehenel, laughed. His perfectly white teeth gleamed in contrast to his dark skin, the combination undeniably handsome. She’d been told he was considered the most handsome and most desirable bachelor in the city. While she could see the allure, her interest wasn’t romantic.
At the moment, at least. But I could certainly choose worse.
His voice was low and sultry. “I said, rumor has it that Styrris Malniet is considering remarrying. Potentially the leader of another of the Nine.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Does that happen?”
He shrugged. “Not in my lifetime, certainly. You’d have to go back a fair way, probably.” When he’d invited her out for a meal, she’d been more or less obligated to attend. She hadn’t felt the need to dress up, but her great aunt Emalia had insisted. His button-down shirt shimmered in dark-purple, the only note of color in an otherwise black outfit. Cali had selected a deep scarlet dress with black accents over black leather leggings and her mother’s boots, which she’d adored since the moment she’d first seen them. Her red curls were piled atop her head in something approximating fashion, again at her elder’s urging. It was much more appropriate for a date than for a strategy session.
“So would they combine into a single house? Wouldn’t that create a power vacuum?”
Wymarc chuckled but managed to avoid sounding condescending. Good choice, buddy. “I can’t see old Styrris allowing that to happen. More likely, he’s planning to absorb the other house.”
Cali took a sip of her cider and returned the glass to the table. “So you’re being clever by not revealing the name. You want me to guess, is that it?”
Her companion laughed and nodded. “Of course. Nothing comes for free in New Atlantis, you know that. Right now, the cost is merely a game.”
She considered what she knew about the other houses. Most of them would be too entrenched and too proud to allow such a thing. She assumed Styrris would look for a matriarch, as his last spouse had been female. “It would have to be someone who doesn’t support the Empress or is at least willing to turn. By your own words, that limits it to Surette, Devaux, or Cormier.”
He took a sip of his ale and wiped his lips with the knuckle of a long finger. “That is logical. And Surette is led by a patriarch, so that one is less likely.”
She nodded. “And Devaux is rather obvious since they’re publicly anti-Shenni. So, Cormier? But the Matriarch is only—what, twenty-eight? And Styrris is maybe ten decades older?”
For a moment, he looked thoughtful while he tapped a fingernail on the table. “About four—maybe four and a half. But yeah, it’s a wide age gap. Quite a score for the old boy.”
“Your chauvinism is showing.” She gave him a withering look. “Try not to be a chucklehead.”
Wymarc released the laugh he’d held. “You’re so easy sometimes, Cali.”
“That’s only a rumor.” The automatic response passed her lips without thought. She’d developed a wide repertoire of snarky comebacks while busking in Jackson Square, where the tourists seemed to enjoy trading barbs with the performers. It was a matter of busker pride to ensure the visitors always departed in defeat. “So, how likely is it? And what’s the bigger strategy? Does he have allies ready to step in if Cormier is removed?”
“You’d have to assume so, right?” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be like him—or any of the Nine—to make such a move with the outcome left to chance.”
Cali leaned back in the booth to allow the server to slide her dinner onto the table. She had ordered one of the local dishes, seafood pasta in a red sauce with spices she’d never had anywhere other than in the undersea city. Generally, she preferred what Wymarc derisively called “surface food,” but this particular dish had grown on her. A grilled hunk of an unspecified animal or fish filled the plate that appeared in front of her dining companion. Her response was delayed by a sustained attack on her meal.
When she came up for air, she expelled a satisfied sigh. “So what’s the reasoning behind it? Does he not have enough people to depend on in his house?”
The man across from her patted his lips with a black cloth napkin before he dropped it into his lap and picked his utensils up. He sectioned the rem
aining parts of his meal while he spoke.
“I doubt that’s it. If I had to guess, he’s found a way to turn your challenge into an opportunity to rally others against you and the Empress. And either the Cormier matriarch wasn’t willing to join without a marriage or someone lower in that house has struck a deal and offered her as the prize.”
She frowned. “So, despite the constant pretense of honor among the Nine, it’s a facade.”
He pointed his knife at her. “You have seen the light. Well done.”
“Or, maybe, this is all an effort by you to win my support.” She chuckled. “Wheels inside wheels.”
Wymarc shook his head. “I prefer to be measured by my actions. I don’t need anyone’s help and if I did, I would be up-front about it.”
Sure you would. When she’d first met the man, she would have attributed the comment to his true belief in his appeal. After spending time with him, she’d come to realize that while he wouldn’t refrain from using his beauty as a tool, it wasn’t all there was to him. At the same time, his commitment to working only at the surface level wasn’t accurate either. “Of course you would.” She deadpanned and waited for his response.
He stared at her and she kept her face blank. Finally, he grinned. “You’re something, Caliste Leblanc.”
Superficial conversation accompanied the rest of the meal and the dim surroundings of the restaurant afforded privacy they wouldn’t have had closer to the city center. It had been his idea to come to the venue in the next-to-outermost section to evade the prying eyes that routinely watched the nightspots closer to the palace. She was definitely behind the times on information-gathering in New Atlantis, with only Emalia seeking knowledge on her behalf and not in any systematic manner.
Another thing I need to embrace unless I can find a way to bring this challenge to a premature end.
After dessert and coffee, she’d had enough of both her escort and being in public. If it wouldn’t have been perceived as entirely rude, she would have portaled home and headed to bed. Instead, she stifled a yawn as they stepped out onto the road beyond the restaurant. New Atlantis’ night had fallen while they dined and it was mostly dark, the only illumination a dim light that filtered from above and the occasional wrought iron lantern streetlight. Closer to the palace, the lamps were almost continuous. There, they were puddles of gray in a sea of shapes demarcated in shades of black.
The quiet click as the door closed was followed by a louder one that set her nerves afire—a deadbolt sliding home. She whispered, “Wymarc,” and he nodded.
“I heard it too.”
“Portal?”
He didn’t have time to reply as a wave of bodies appeared at a run out of the darkness. She cursed and mentally commanded the scarlet and black bracelets she wore to transform into fighting sticks. They turned liquid and flowed over her hands to reform into the etched magical weapons Zeb had created for her.
She pointed at the figure in the lead but held her attack and yelled, “Hold or face the consequences.”
Wymarc growled impatiently. “You can’t reason with them. They’re mercenaries. If they give up, they’ll never be hired again.” He threw a ball of fire at the center of the formation, and they parted to evade it but didn’t lessen the speed of their approach one iota.
Thoughts flicked through her mind—How does he know? Are they after me or him? How did they find us?—but none of them mattered. She released the hold on her power and a force bolt traveled through her stick. The etched runes glowed for an instant before the magic exploded from the tip and pounded into the nearest enemy. The strength of the blast hurled him back into the darkness. She swung the stick toward the next but he had already begun his attack.
Lightning emerged from his fists as he raced toward her and the flares strobed the surrounding motion in her vision so it all seemed abstract and at a level removed from reality. She struck her sticks together in front of her to form an X, and her magic reached out to draw in the electrical assault and neutralize it against her weapons. When her attacker dropped the assault, she hurled the stick in her right hand at his face and skittered left to sidekick the foe who snuck in from that side.
Good try, chucklehead.
The force blast that struck her came as a total surprise and hurled her to bounce off the building and fall heavily. Only her reflexive tuck protected her skull from smacking the restaurant wall.
Dammit. Nice trap. The first guy was the bait and I fell for it. She shook her head and pushed to her feet as Wymarc leveled two enemies with simultaneous blasts of shadow aimed at their heads. She ran to his side and discovered that while they’d dealt with the initial attackers, the others had arranged themselves into a semicircle with them in the center. At least a dozen still remained. If their foes were nonmagicals, those odds might be doable. This situation, however, was far more challenging.
She shouted, “Hey, hold up. Who’s in charge here?” While she awaited their response, she sent a mental call across the city and received a wave of affirmation in reply. She smothered her smile at the eagerness that colored it.
One of the men stepped forward. He looked older with a black beard and mustache traced with gray hair. A small scar on his cheek gave him character. His features were hard and square, and his voice was equally solid. “That would be me.”
Cali nodded. “And you know who I am?”
“Of course.”
“Whatever you’re being paid, I can pay more. I don’t have as large a household to support as the…”
He responded with a thin smile but didn’t end the sentence as she’d hoped. Dammit. Instead, he said, “What kind of people would we be if we gave our word and then abandoned our commitment for a better prize?”
With her eyebrow raised in challenge, she said, “Smart ones?”
Beside her, Wymarc sighed. “Now he’ll say he couldn’t possibly, and you’ll offer more, but he’ll stand on his alleged honor, knowing there’s no way he’d ever get a job again if he allowed a target to outbid his employer.” He shook his head. “Let’s cut to the chase. How about we do this two on two, Kreeson?”
The other man shrugged. “I can’t do it, Wy. Promises were made.”
She turned to her companion. “You know this guy?”
His chuckle was dark. “I know all kinds of people. He’s a good drinking companion when he’s not being paid to hurt me.”
The mercenary leader coughed. “It’s not you, Wy. It’s her. You could take a walk.”
Cali pointed a finger at him. “You, shut up and wait.” She turned to Wymarc. “He’s not wrong. I can probably beat them on my own. I’m not exactly helpless.”
“There are three reasons I can’t go. First, it would damage my reputation if word got out, and there’s a whole restaurant full of cowards watching. Second, I invited you to this part of the city so technically, the situation is my fault.”
He paused and it seemed like everyone waited in silence for his next words.
Finally, she asked, “And the third thing?”
He grinned. “This.” He spun and launched two lines of shadow magic from his fists that met at the chest of the leader and blasted him out of sight.
Chapter Two
The remaining mercenaries surged forward, several of those quicker on the uptake and a step ahead of their comrades. She felt the incoming surprise for them before she saw him and grinned as Fyre flashed through the pool of light to her left and sprayed a long line of frost across the front rank. The Draksa’s magic coated them in ice and froze them in place like statues. Shouts and bolts of power sought him as he flew past but managed only to illuminate his gorgeous metallic scales, now fully a blend of the Leblanc house colors—turquoise and red with occasional lines of deep black.
She spoke into his mind, “Great job, buddy,” and amusement flowed to her in reply. Wymarc had clearly been surprised by the dragon lizard’s appearance, as he was a full two steps behind when she crossed in front of him to attack the enemie
s on the right-hand side of the formation. They spun bolts of power at her and she slapped them away with her sticks and channeled a touch of magic to attract and absorb the enemy attacks.
When Nylotte had taught her the skill, the Drow had scoffed at the fact that she didn’t know it already and had promised that in future sessions, she’d teach her to use her enemy’s magic as fuel for her own. When she’d told Emalia about it, her great aunt had only shrugged and said there were as many approaches to magic as there were people, and she’d do well to learn from everyone she could.
Reflection time ended when she reached hand-to-hand combat range. She channeled her motion into a front kick with her right leg and drove her reinforced heel into her opponent’s sternum. His padded jacket prevented him from going down but the look on his face showed he’d lost at least some of his breath. As soon as her foot landed, she lifted it again, spun back, and whipped her sticks at head height. The man on her left managed to raise an arm to block but the velocity of the weapons snapped his forearm with a loud crack. He fell, cradling it as he moaned in pain.
Fyre screeched when he darted in again and locked another of the mercenaries in a sheath of ice. Wymarc tumbled into a pool of light as he dodged a fireball and straightened quickly with daggers made of shadow magic in his hands. He became a blur of motion as he alternately kicked and slashed with the blades of power. His opponent fell and blood welled from a jagged line that stretched from his cheek to his temple. He looked at his fighting partner in triumph before he catapulted to slam into the wall of the restaurant and slumped dazedly on the street.
